Tryin'A Picket Fences repost from a while ago
by JimmyBrockFan1
Summary: Tragedy strikes the Brock family-Can they pull through and survive? Final Chapter Posted
1. Restless

Editor's Note: This Picket Fences fan fiction is a fan fic I previously posted on another website a few months back. I certainly hope those who haven't read it will enjoy it as much if not more than those who have. I own nothing; these are all David E. Kelley's characters.so please, don't sue me. Please feel free to leave a review if you chose-I am open to suggestions. Also, I have yet another fan fic written as a follow-up to this plot. Enjoy!  
  
Sheriff Jimmy Brock had been lying in his queen-sized bed for the last three hours. The time, according to the digital alarm clock on his right, was only 11:15am. Tonight was his night to work the 11:00pm to 7:00am shift- something he himself had not done at least 10 years in all his time being the sheriff of Rome, Wisconsin. He decided to work this shift based upon the mere fact his department had been short staffed during the summer months. As he lay there, he thought about how much he missed Jill's body close to his; she had gotten up with the chickens at 6:00 to go to her medical office and care for the ill-stricken citizens of the town they both loved so much, after that she was to do her weekly rounds at Thayer Hospital's emergency room until 11:30pm. Kimberly, Matthew and Zachary were all in school-where they should have been, rounding out the remainder of the school year. That just left Jimmy, alone in a gigantic two-story house; caught in a realm of alertness and outside noise which only interfered with his sleep.  
  
Around 2:00pm, Jimmy decided that perhaps he should get out of bed and take a soothing lukewarm shower to ease his somewhat troubling thoughts. Inside, his mind had wandered aimlessly from one thought to the next-his gut played into a horrific feeling that something terrible was going to occur while he worked the "graveyard shift"; and what is was exactly, the sheriff couldn't quite place his finger on it.  
  
Once his shower was completed, the sheriff slowly dressed himself in his long sleeved light blue duty shirt and navy pants-now focusing on two items of importance: one: it was too damn hot to be wearing something with long sleeves and he should look into getting summer apparel, and two: wondering what exactly it was his gut was trying to tell him. 'Nah,' he thought, 'I am the oldest and wisest individual on the Rome Sheriff Department.' This was true, given the fact he had seen it all-nicotine poisoning, serial bathers-even a string of "serial freezer" killings had passed his way. If it was deemed to be strange and really out there, you could almost bet that Sheriff Jimmy Brock had seen it all. But why wouldn't this feeling disappear? Could it be that Rome's most moral man was indeed looking into the eyes of some unforeseen danger?  
  
After a while, Matthew and Zachary had come home following a day long venture at the Rome Junior High School. In fact, it was their arguing over hockey that broke Jimmy away from his predisposed thoughts about tonight. "I still say that Chris Chelios is a better hockey player," said Zach, now rallying to his favorite player's defense. "Where'd you get that stupid idea from-the Wheaties box?," asked Matthew as he went to the fridge to grab something to eat. "No, penishead. Sports Illustrated for Kids," shot back Zach, who was now sitting at the head of the table; in his father's dinner spot, trying to concentrate on his algebra homework. "Real hockey gurus read the real Sports Illustrated," replied Matthew, now well on his way upstairs to his bedroom.  
  
To Be Continued. 


	2. Explantions

Jimmy had been standing in the doorway of his bedroom listening to his sons' off the wall conversation when Matthew had emerged from the stairs, stopping to speak with his father. "Hi dad," said Matthew, walking to his room.  
"Hey son," answered Jimmy.  
"Are you ready for my big hockey game against Windsor tomorrow?"  
"Of course, after all, I am my son's biggest fan. How about you-are you ready to kick some ass," Jimmy inquired, trying to strike up conversation with his now adolescent son, all the while attempting to forget what his body was telling him.  
"As always," said Matthew, ending yet another short lived talk between father and son, Jimmy often blamed this on what people called a "generation gap" and obviously, that was what was going on here.  
  
Jimmy then headed downstairs to greet Zach, who was found to be entirely engrossed in the Pythagorean Theorem and numerous postulates. He glanced over his shoulder to see what it was exactly his son had been calculating, when Zach turned to his father.  
"Good afternoon dad," Zach greeted. "Did you sleep well today?" Regardless of whatever the circumstances might have been, Zach seemed to worry about his father's safety.  
"Yeah, I guess. What are you working on here?" asked a curious Jimmy, who at this time pretended not to know.  
"Just some algebra homework-Pythagorean Theorem, stuff like that. Do you really think bad things happen in this town at night when everyone should be asleep?"  
"Well, seems how we live in a town called Rome, things here always defy the odds. Why do you ask?"  
"It's just," Zach paused, "That it seems as though if everyone were asleep, then no crime would be committed, and well, you wouldn't have to work this 'third shift.'"  
The sheriff just looked at his thirteen-year old son, stuck for and answer that tried to make sense to him. 'How do you explain to a child that it's a part of your job sometimes?' he wondered. While searching for an answer, he managed to get to the refrigerator and pull out leftovers from the previous night's dinner. He then proceeded to answer his son's question in the following manner: "You're right, if everyone were asleep, then there wouldn't be any crime, however, sometimes there are people who thrive to be out all night and like to cause problems. That's where the sheriff's department steps in-to prevent civil unrest." Jimmy sat down next to Zach, waiting for a reply-it finally came after five minutes.  
"Oh. I guess that makes sense," Zach stated, now packing up his algebra book and headed for the stairs.  
  
To Be Continued.. 


	3. Whole Lotta Speed

The sheriff was now alone again-only this time; the clock had struck 8:00pm. 'Three more hours,' he told himself, 'until I figure what is going to occur.' He got up, placed his dirty dishes in the sink for his loving wife to do when she returned. Now, his thoughts steered towards Jill. When they had met initially all those years ago, it was she who had broken the silence with a "Hello," and it was she who he had been attracted to much more than his now ex-wife Lydia; the mother of his only daughter Kimberly. No matter what happened between them, Jill was right there when Jimmy's world seemed to fly apart around him. He couldn't imagine life or love without her; yet when something was secretly eating away at him, Jill managed to detect that he was bothered-even when he had been reluctant to talk about it. She had the ability to read him like an open book during these trying times, but felt as though she would complicate issues if she pried his worries out of him. Jimmy preferred she let him be. This evening, she was at Thayer, working in the ER, unaware of what was about to occur.  
  
Those remaining three hours went relatively quickly, prompting Jimmy to gather his sheriff garb and head off to his office in his second Ford Explorer XLT (the first one was shot all to pieces by a young man who literally assassinated the town priest in the confession booth a few years back. At the time Jill had asked him what he was going to do about a police vehicle and he told her that was what automobile insurance was for). Once he arrived, he realized that is was only himself and Bud Skeeter scheduled to work tonight. Kenny and Max were off vacationing in Minnesota and everyone else had worked during the day-which was basically the only reason he had picked up tonight; he hated the idea of leaving Skeeter alone; it just wasn't his policy to short change his department.  
"Hey sheriff, get enough rest today? "Asked Skeeter, catching Jimmy completely off guard.  
"Boy, I sure hope so. What is it that you guys do here at night? I am a little rusty", Jimmy had asked.  
"Well for the most part we hang ou-"  
Jimmy cut him off short. "I think I'll go and patrol Main Street. God knows I hate sitting around, doing nothing."  
"Alright. I'll stay here at the station and try to catch up on those late reports you keep asking me to do."  
Jimmy just laughed to himself-headed out the door with his trooper hat in tow.  
  
Seems how it was a weeknight, Main Street looked a little, well, dead. 'This ought to be an easy night,' Jimmy thought to himself. 'Not a soul around except for an occasional stray dog.' Just then, his peaceful thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the noise of a car gunning its engine past the sheriff and his parked Explorer. Jimmy gathered his thoughts and immediately chased after the sedan; running lights and sirens all the way. He had clocked them doing an 80mph speed in a 35mph zone. After about 2 miles, he realized they weren't going to stop, so he radioed Skeeter that he needed some back-up.  
"Skeeter, come in," wailed Jimmy.  
"Go ahead, sheriff," replied Skeeter who was found kicked back in a chair.  
"I need some back-up. I am in hot pursuit of a four door sedan, found to be doing 80 in 35 and not slowing down."  
"What's your location?"  
"I am at the corner of-"Jimmy paused, he had to think just where in the hell he was-while trying to ignore a now strong physiological feeling that surged through his body.  
"Sheriff, where are you?" Skeeter panically asked-now he had begun to worry.  
"Maple and Oak-heading east on Hillcrest," Jimmy replied.  
  
After about 5 miles of chase, the vehicle stopped. Jimmy got out of his police vehicle and approached the driver of the car-all while keeping close watch on the passenger; he looked to be very suspicious in nature.  
"License and registration please," Jimmy politely asked-then without saying a word, the passenger reached into the glove box, pulled out a .22 caliber pistol and shot Jimmy twice-dead in the chest. The car sped away, leaving the sheriff to die in the street. He tried to radio back to the station, but even that effort was too much. He knew he was losing blood fast-yet wanted to call for help before he went into a stage of unconsciousness. Thankfully, a resident across the street had heard the gunshots and called 911. Within two minutes, the paramedics arrived on scene and began their work.  
  
"OK, put some pressure on those wounds," yelled one paramedic, "and don't let up. We don't want this guy to bleed out anymore than he already has."  
"Get me the intubation kit-we have to stabilize him and establish an airway," yelled another.  
All while this was going on, Bud Skeeter arrived on scene only to find out that his boss had been shot. Here Jimmy lies on the ground, intubated, having someone else breathe for him via Ambu-bag and blood all over. It did not look like the same man he had just seen a little over an hour ago. Once they finally had him stable, the paramedics immediately loaded him into the ambulance and ran lights and sirens all the way to Thayer Hospital. In the 15 minutes it took to arrive, CPR was done all the way there to ensure their fellow colleague didn't fall victim to another statistic of police officers killed in the line of duty. 


	4. Paging Dr Brock

At Thayer, the paramedics continued CPR and were (ironically) greeted by Jill Brock, who at this time had no idea that the person on the backboard was her husband, until she glanced quickly at his face.  
"Oh God," uttered Jill. "Get me an OR, stat!" She had to pull through this-her husband needed her more now than anything in the entire universe.  
"Dr. Brock its-", a fellow resident tried to explain when she cut him off.  
"Yes, I know. Give me one liter of lactated ringers. We need to get him up to the OR-NOW!" Jill always had been persistent when it came to family.  
  
The time it took to get an open operating room seemed like an eternity to Jill. In reality, it was probably only 20 minutes-but damnit, this was her husband, the father of her children-she couldn't and won't let him die. 'First,' she thought, 'I have to get him stabilized enough to go to the OR. We can't operate with a blood pressure of 90/30 it's too risky.' Had it been someone else, she probably would have taken this chance. Within that period of 20 minutes, Jimmy had received two boluses of lactated ringers solution, four units of packed red cells and enough grief from his wife to last a lifetime. Now that his blood pressure was holding its own, she decided that the timing was right to go in and attempt to repair her husband's wounds. As Jill scrubbed, she thought about how much she hated being in the OR when a member of her family was in there too-lying so helpless on an operating table. The last time this had happened was when Matthew got shot by a fellow classmate. She recalled how helpless she had felt and prayed to God she could in fact make a difference now. God, she hated that feeling more than anything in the world-and now she had to go through it again; only this time with her husband. 'It's not his fault,' Jill reassured herself, 'I have to be strong-if not for me, then for our children.'  
  
Jimmy was then brought in after Jill and her coworkers had finished their five minute scrub routine. Here he is, lying so flat and still on a backboard; breathing now with the assistance of mechanical devices. Jill made the point to not remind her she had seen him like this-Jimmy always had a problem with people looking at him other than the way he was. Hell, he even hated visitors at his house when he was sick with the flu. And to think if Jimmy knew she had seen him in such an awkward position, it probably would have bothered him rather deeply. Jill just stood there, above her husband, trying to contemplate on where exactly to begin when her deep train of thought was interrupted.  
"Dr. Brock, are you sure you want to be doing this?" asked the anesthesiologist, referring to her operating on her husband, now breathing with the aid of a ventilator connected to the endotracheal tube placed in the field.  
"Please understand me doctor. Just because he he's my husband, don't assume my abilities as a surgeon will be altered," Jill replied in a some what hasty tone. She had to make a move and rather quickly otherwise another surgeon would be called in to take her place in fear that she couldn't be impartial. Glancing at the gunshot wounds, she knew she had to begin.  
"Scalpel," Jill ordered. Using this piece of popular surgical instrumentation, Dr. Brock made a transverse incision where the first bullet had entered, just above the proximity of the sheriff's deltoid muscle. Once an incision was made, Jill used retractors to pull back muscle tissue in hopes to locate a slug, repair the damaged tissue and suture the first surgical site closed. Fortunately for Jimmy, the bullet had exited, resulting in minimal tissue damage. However, it was the second gunshot wound that worried Jill the most seems how, according to a portable chest x- ray; it had entered his thoracic cavity and failed to produce an exit site. Again, using a scalpel, Jill made another incision, except this one was sagittal in nature. 'He's going to kill me,' she thought, 'Two scars going opposite ways. And again, using retractors, she managed to pull back enough musculature to pin-point where the slug was. As Jill began to extract the slug, something horrible had happened. Blood started oozing everywhere, realizing it nicked the pulmonary artery. Jill immediately placed her index finger over the wound and tried to stop the bleeding.  
"Kelley, stat!" Jill barked. With the Kelley clamp, she was able to prevent more blood flow outward by temporarily pinching off the artery and took note of his blood pressure reading off the machine. As time progressed, things appeared to get more complicated. It was now 1:35am and sheriff Jimmy Brock had been under for almost two hours, his life hanging by a thread in the delicate surgical hands of his wife. Thankfully even after 30 seconds of blood loss, Jimmy's blood pressure hadn't gone down by much and Dr. Brock along with her colleagues was able to continue operating. With a surgical resident now grasping the Kelley clamp, Jill decided she ought to cauterize and suture the artery that caused a minor bleed.  
  
While she finished suturing up her husband, she recalled why she went into surgery-to feel an innate sense of power when life and death were on the line. Tonight, she had done just that; except it just wasn't anyone's life, it was her husband's. Jill wondered if anybody had contacted their children to let them know their hero had been shot. In fact, she played with the idea of doing if after she was done in the OR, yet she didn't want to frighten them -not this time of night. Finally after two hours and fifteen minutes, Jill Brock had saved Jimmy Brock's life and he was well on his way to the recovery room where he'd stay for about an hour and then be transferred to the CCU unit. Jill needed a well deserved break. In fact once Jimmy was wheeled to the recovery room in stable condition, she removed her surgical cap and mask and headed for a telephone-any telephone. She decided she had better call her children and tell them herself that their father had been shot and wounded critically. After all, it was she who once said families don't keep secrets from each other. 


	5. 5 Crusades

Bud Skeeter was on a one man crusade. His boss and close friend had been shot and critically wounded only a few hours ago. When Skeeter had seen who it was laying on the ground in a pool of blood, he secretly vowed to himself that he'd personally track down the gunmen. He ran into a slight dilemma though. Jimmy was lying in a hospital bed under the watchful eye of his spouse while Kenny and Max were still out of town-so who did that leave in charge? Deputy Skeeter strongly felt it should be him, yet he had only joined the Rome, Wisconsin sheriff department just seven years ago. 'Now is not the time to be thinking about chain of command,' he thought as he drove through the neighborhood where Brock had been gunned down. Based upon those statements obtained from eyewitnesses, Skeeter was supposedly searching for a rather flashy looking newer model four-door sedan with chrome all over; tires, grill, trim. The driver and passenger were clean cut, something unusual for criminal nature, which simply refused to cooperate with Rome's toughest top cop. Skeeter had a hunch as to who they were; a couple of young men who lived in a two-story house on the outskirts of Rome and were at one juncture in time, found to be contributing to the black market in order to make a living.  
"Dude, you really showed that cop whose boss," congratulated the driver, his cohort, a man who his clients referred to as "Razor" due to his slick selling techniques to the gullible public.  
"Should a paid close attention," said Razor, gleaming at the driver. "Damn cops-think they fucking know everything in this town. Bastards." It can be noted that these guys dislike the law enforcement profession. The two men just burst out laughing, hoping they were successful in the murder of Rome's most prominent figure.  
  
While Bud Skeeter set out to track down Jimmy's shooters, Jill had come to terms with her anxiety about telephoning her children. For the time being, he was doing much better than anticipated-Brock had been extubated per protocol and for once was breathing on his own; still needed maintenance oxygen, per nasal cannula, but was breathing on his own, an improvement from only a few hours earlier.  
  
The three Brock children were home and in their beds; everyone was sleeping except Kimberly, who had sensed something went wrong when her mother failed to come home at 11:45pm. She had been staring at the ceiling for two hours until the gaze was interrupted by the telephone ringing. Kim ran into her parent's room and picked it up.  
"Hello?" Kimberly answered.  
"Kimberly? Is that you?" Jill asked on the other end.  
"Yes. Mom, where are you?"  
"I am still at the hospital. Listen to me very carefully, OK?"  
There was a moment of silence on Kim's end of the phone. Usually when Jill said to listen, something terrible had happened. Kimberly tried to brace herself for what she was about to hear.  
"Get the boys up and bring them to Thayer"-Jill paused for a moment and proceeded to try and complete her sentence without leading on she was about to cry. "Your father has been shot and wounded very critically. We had him in the OR for a little over two hours but we, thankfully, managed to repair his injuries. I think it would be to our best interest if we stuck to this like a family."  
Kimberly felt as though her entire universe had collapsed before her. She knew she had to stay composed, not revealing to her mother or anyone else for that matter, she was about to crack. "You did the surgery?" She was stuck for words, what else could she say?  
"Yes. I am extremely exhausted; psychologically, physiologically, emotionally. I think right now we need to help daddy get through this."  
Jill needn't say anything more. Kimberly had woken Matthew and Zach and told them to get dressed. All the way to the hospital, Matthew sulked, Zachary shed every last tear and Kim couldn't quite grasp the idea that her father-a man she had little disputes with, almost died in her mother's arms. The thought scared the hell out of her. Never, in all of her 18 ½ years on this earth did she imagine she might actually lose the person she was so close to, yet seemed so far away.  
  
To Be Continued.. 


	6. Altered States

The Brock children arrived at Thayer Hospital within a few minutes after Kimberly had hung up the phone with her mother. They went to the information desk, asked which room James Brock had been in and were promptly directed to room 372. Kimberly immediately had a sickening feeling overcome her-she knew this couldn't be good if her father was in that room; based on what little she knew about hospitals, rooms located on the third floor were generally for those individuals who weren't medically stable. She certainly hoped this had not been the case. The three Brocks stepped off the elevator and ran to Jill, hugging and crying together now as a family.  
"Is he going to be OK?" Kimberly had asked with a crackle in her voice as Jill escorted her close knit family to the CCU.  
"I think so," Jill replied, trying her hardest to hold back a stream of tears. "He's just down the hall a little ways." The rest of the Brock family had followed the two women into room 372, where Jimmy laid so still with all of his numerous durable medical equipment attached to his muscular body. He himself, was exhausted from the entire ordeal, and, thanks to modern anesthesia, had no difficulties in sleeping. Jill Brock knew her husband needed rest, but he also needed his family. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him, placing her hand in his. Surprisingly, neither of their children have ever witnessed a gesture like it, yet this time, it seemed all the more special.  
"Jimmy, it's me, Jill," she managed to say, having tears fall down her cheeks like rain. Just then, he mumbled something-the first words since his unfortunate accident.  
"I," Jimmy stopped. His thoughts were still cloudy from the entire anesthesia he had received earlier in the night, so piecing together what he yearned to express came across as a difficulty. He then continued on with what he was going to say,-"am sorry." One could tell he was really trying to concentrate on what he was attempting to say, his eyes were closed and he had squinted, giving him an almost angry look on his face.  
"It's OK honey. You can open your eyes. We're all right here-we're not going anyplace," reassured Jill, still grasping her husband's large right hand, all while having more tears well up in her tired eyes again. "You're going to be all right. You're safe now."  
  
Sheriff Brock made the effort to open his tired blue eyes and wound up staring into the eyes of his youthful offspring and spouse. Truth be known, he despised the fact they had all seen him like this-hooked to a cardiac monitor, oxygen tubing in his nose, hell, even the Foley catheter had bothered him. None the less, deep down in his heart, he was never more proud than to have his family at his bedside.  
Jill, still perched in her chair, moved her other hand and placed it on his forehead, feathering back his salt and pepper hair out of his eyes. Typically, on a good day, he would have it parted down the center and what were supposed to be his bangs went off to each side. Deep down, she loved to run her fingers through his wavy scalp-usually when he let it grow out a little. Jimmy wasn't a man known for his lengthy hair, just when he had purposely forgotten to have it trimmed every five weeks.  
"Daddy?" Kimberly couldn't restrain her emotions any longer than she absolutely had to.  
Jimmy had dozed off again, but was found to be easily aroused. Damn, was he ever tired. When Kim said his name, he woke up almost immediately.  
"Kimberly," he managed to spit that out. "Its late, you guys should be home and in bed." Some things never change.  
"Dad, it's OK. We're here to help you pull through this," Matthew concurred. He should be one to know; after all it was his parents who never left his bedside when he had gotten shot; now it was his turn to return the favor.  
"You have a hockey game tonight son," Jimmy recalled, again stumbling for appropriate words. His mind was playing games on him, yet, in reality, there was nothing he could do about it, at least not now. His body had to metabolize the anesthesia; he was just impatient and hated that state of mass confusion. "You should be in school so you can play and go out there and kick some ass for me." Little did Brock know, school and work were the farthest things from everyone's mind.  
Zach just sat quietly in a corner, praying to God his dad would be all right. 


	7. Stakes Were High

Daybreak had rapidly approached. Bud Skeeter had been up all night, searching for those responsible in the shooting of the town sheriff. He had one more stop to make before he headed to his house-the home where Razor, his cohort, and girlfriend had resided. Come hell or high water, Skeeter was going to gain enough evidence to bring forth charges against the two of them. He pulled the police cruiser into their driveway, got out and made way to the front door; knocking until a rather young appearing women came to the door.  
"Is something wrong," she asked nervously.  
"No, ma'am. I just came by to ask a few questions regarding a shooting that occurred earlier this morning," explained Skeeter.  
The woman stepped away from the door. "I don't know anything about a shooting. My husband may know something about it."  
"Is your husband here now?"  
"No. He and a friend went out for the day. You'd have to come back later." Skeeter handed her his business card and asked to have him call when he returned. He then left to try and go home and get some rest-he wasn't sure if he could, replaying this morning's horrendous images in the back of his mind.  
  
Back at Thayer, after a few hours of much needed sleep, Jimmy had become a little more coherent and begun to piece together what happened, often going back to step one and reprimanding himself. His family was still at the bedside, now peacefully napping when the first shift came in to introduce themselves. He hated lying in that bed, yet had no way of getting up because Jill made damn sure all four side rails were up. She knew he would try and escape-it was all a part of that Jimmy Brock demeanor. As he lay there, he couldn't quite decide what hurt the most-his pride or his gunshot wounds. He wanted so badly something to ease the pain, yet in a way felt shy in asking for anything his wife had ordered as routine post- operative analgesics. After a while, Jill woke up to check on her husband, found to be still staring at the ceiling tiles.  
"Jimmy?" Jill asked.  
He turned his head in her direction and looked into her tired eyes. "Jill, you look so...exhausted." She leaned over; give him a kiss on the lips and a much needed hug. Just then, their children had waked up and she sent them to the cafeteria so she and Jimmy could talk.  
"So, what's on the agenda for today, Doc?" Jimmy joked with her. At least his sense of humor was returning.  
"It is in my understanding that they want to do an echocardiogram and a few more x-rays, you know, to be certain everything is the way it should be," she explained. "After that, we'll have to wait and see." In reality, she ordered them to double check herself; she had been awake for eighteen hours, hauled into the OR to fix her husband's gunshot wounds-how can she be sure she had not over looked anything while his internal organs had been exposed to her discretion?  
  
To Be Continued. 


	8. Life is Beautiful

As continued from the previous chapter.  
  
"As long as I had been in good hands, I honestly don't think I have anything to worry about," Jimmy had said, invoking even the slightest bit of laughter in his statement.  
He had waited to hear the entire story, from start to finish. Jill got up out of her chair and peered out the window, only to see her reflection staring back at her in the glass. Jimmy was right, she had looked like hell; her scrubs were disheveled and her blond hair was a mess. He must have inferred that she had had a rough night; her appearances said it all for her.  
"Jill, I know you were there last night trying your damndest to save my life." This caught her off guard completely, leaving her with literally nothing to say. "I knew the minute I fell to the ground, I would have been in good hands. Something tried to grab my attention earlier in the evening about something happening to me, but, as you know, I ignored it entirely until that guy had fired the first shot. It wasn't until that moment in time that I realized I had to deal with the existing circumstances." Jimmy adjusted his torso on the bed, turning himself over to face her backside. Jill was sort of lost in her own little universe-pondering on whether or not this was an appropriate time to mention to her husband that he came pretty close to a brush with death in the OR because of that one slug striking a major artery. She released a big sigh and decided not to tell him; she looked at him and began to cry.  
"I am alive, Jill-all because of you," said Jimmy, now having tears of his own fill his beautiful azure eyes. He never enjoyed his life more than right now.  
  
At about 1:00pm, Skeeter got up from his two-hour power nap and decided he should pay another visit to his number one suspect's residence. When he arrived, he noticed two men out in the back lawn, shooting at clay pigeons with a .22 caliber pistol. He had a hunch that this was the exact weapon used to shoot Jimmy-he just needed the forensics to reinforce his theory.  
"Freeze!" Skeeter screamed. "Drop the firearm!"  
Startled, the two men turned, and out of instinct, aimed the gun on the lone deputy.  
"Drop the fucking guns, NOW! You are all under arrest for the attempted murder of Sheriff James Brock," Skeeter had demanded, with the young lady standing within a close proximity behind him.  
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Razor snapped, gritting his teeth.  
"You don't have enough evidence to even try and convict of us of any crime," rallied the other man.  
"Oh yes he does," the woman bluntly stated. "I signed a complaint against the two of you in turn for immunity based on the fact that I am sexually deprived. Sorry, Razor, but I am in the process of suing you for sexual neglect."  
"There's no merit to your case, stupid bitch. I have been there for you, and you know it. What in the hell are you trying to pull off here? You'll never get away with this!" Razor screamed as Skeeter finished handcuffing the two men. He was on his way to the patrol car when Max and Kenny had shown up, completely confused as to what was happening before their eyes.  
"Skeeter, what in the hell is going on?" Max asked.  
"These two jackasses shot Jimmy last night and nearly killed him," Skeeter answered, closing the rear door with a rather loud and pronounced slam.  
"Jimmy got shot?" Kenny couldn't quite believe what he was hearing; now his emotions got the better of him-he was out to beat some ass. "You are damn lucky you're in that car asshole. There are some things in this town you can get away with, but crossing my path on a bad day is not one of them!"  
"Ooh, macho cop, upset because things aren't going his way," Razor replied with a rather hasty and intimidating attitude. That alone was enough to have Kenny go off on a tangent. He opened the door to the police cruiser and seized the criminal's shirt collar.  
"Think you're funny, huh? You are fortunate that my coworkers are here, otherwise, I would chew you up into mulch and pummel you to a bloody pulp."  
"Kenny! Release him! Do you really want Wambaugh to get a hold of this? We cannot afford to lose this case. Let him be!" Max yelled, straining her voice. She knew better than most, Kenny's temper had gotten to him. Kenny reluctantly released Razor's shirt and ordered Skeeter to take them to the courthouse to be arraigned.  
"You tried to murder the town sheriff, what the fuck were you thinking of?" Max whispered under her breath as Skeeter escorted them downtown. She too could now feel her vehemence escalate from somewhere deep inside.  
  
All the way back to the sheriff department, nobody said a word, not even Kenny or Max, both too pissed off to talk to anyone. Max sat next to him, contemplating about Jimmy's welfare. She, like her partner, was too infuriated to even consider expressing herself. She knew once they arrived at the station, Douglas Wambaugh would be there as well; waiting in the wings to pounce at a mere chance he might get to represent these lawless individuals in a court of law. Thinking about that alone made her irate-my God, these guys shot Jimmy. How could he act on behalf of the men responsible for wounding their friend? Max tried to figure it out, but it failed to make any sense whatsoever.  
  
To Be Continued. 


	9. Alls Well that Ends Well

As continued from the previous chapter.  
  
Once at the sheriff department, the three deputies unloaded their guilty cargo and marched them to their individual jail cells. A few minutes later, Wambaugh had arrived, load and flamboyant as ever.  
"I'm in charge!" thundered Doug. Kenny and Max just stared at him with a seemingly puzzled look.  
"What?!" inquired Kenny. "You don't work for the sheriff department Doug."  
"Such a character, ha ha. Jimmy is temporarily indisposed of and left me in charge," Doug answered with smirk on his face.  
"Go away!" exclaimed both Max and Kenny. Doug always tried to maneuver around anything and everything to at least attempt to hold a public office of some sort, and well, right now wasn't appropriate to be joking about seeing over the sheriff's department.  
"Kenny, we can be cordial. Now I can stipulate to the court that you threatened my clients or you can get out of my way and let me be your boss. Ha ha. Douglas Wambaugh seeing that justice is served in Rome, Wisconsin. It has a nice ring to it don't you think?"  
"Yeah, Doug, why don't you use it for next election's campaign slogan?"  
"I take exception to that. I am just trying to loosen up the town, that way, if this ever gets to the court system, why, I'll have gained all the popularity one man could possibly get."  
Max sat in her chair at her desk. Was she really hearing this? Wambaugh was more worried about being in charge of thirty deputies than the well-being of one of his friends. She couldn't hold back what she was about to say. "You can't be serious about representing these guys. I mean, for God's sake, they almost killed Jimmy. One of our most beloved members of this community. What the hell is wrong with you?"  
Wambaugh stepped away from her desk. Maxine had been right. But how was she to know he was just putting on a charade? "I was only trying to be humorous. Yes, I know they shot the sheriff. Do I care? Of course. Jimmy and I are the care takers of this town, unless you count in my worthy opponent, Mr. Littleton or even the new judge. I pray to God every night that He watches over this village and that He heals Jimmy." After his speech, Wambaugh picked up his briefcase and headed out the station doors.  
Kenny and Max just looked at each other, stuck for words. Finally, Kenny had broken the silence. "I don't know what to make of him, Max. I have lived in this municipality for eleven years and somehow Doug manages to represent those people who live on harming police officers. Truth is, I doubt if he'll stick with it. Sorta hits a personal nerve, I think on his part. It's not like it's a cow or a deer that was injured, it was the town sheriff."  
  
The day had passed on rather rapidly. Kenny and Max were finished for the day; recalling this had been pretty hellish-not even twenty-four hours back from a week long vacation and they had to bring justice to the men arrested earlier. The both of them felt strongly they should go and pay a visit to their boss at Thayer hospital. When they arrived, they were greeted by Jill, who at this time had gotten very little, if any rest. In fact, she sent her children home at 2:00pm so Matthew could get around for his hockey game tonight. Max stood two feet away from where Jimmy was lying and realized for the first time, she had never seen him look so pitiful and wasn't exactly sure how she was going to approach him. Jill mentioned he had just gone sleep.  
"This is what happens when the two of us go out of town," said Max. Inside, she wanted so badly to cry her eyes out, yet didn't want anyone to see it-not even Brock, should he happen to wake.  
  
"You can't blame yourself, Max," Jill reassured her. "It's one of those dangers that is ultimately there when you are a law enforcement officer. I think he has made an improvement in twelve hours time; I just have a difficult time with the fact that my husband got shot. I mean, this Jimmy Brock we are talking about."  
Kenny stood there, looking at the sheriff. He and Jill knew better than anyone that Jimmy hated laying in that bed-he knew what she must have gone through last night; her facial expression said it all. It was something about that look that seemed vaguely familiar, like when he himself had been gunned down by the Frog man. Max walked over to Jimmy's bedside and gave him a kiss on the cheek-causing him to wake and stare into the eyes of his deputy.  
"Maxine, what are you doing here?" Brock asked in a somewhat stern manner.  
"I came by to check on you and make sure Jill has been taking care of you," she said staring into those beautiful blue eyes. "I hope you aren't giving her too much of a difficult time."  
Jimmy stared at the three of them. Although he had felt a little groggy still, he managed to try and bring up conversation. The two deputies eyed his dressings, both knowing damn well they almost lost him.  
"The only thing I think I can give her a hard time about is the fact she had them shave off my mustache," Jimmy joked. Kenny and Max hadn't noticed it was missing. "I guess they didn't want hair to get into those wounds. Oh well, it'll grow back, maybe a little lighter, but it'll grow back." The four of them just laughed, it was something they all needed.  
"Are you doing ok otherwise?" Kenny asked. "You look like you have been through a third world war or somethin'."  
"Yeah, I think so. Hurt like hell, but hey, that is to be expected, or so they say." Jimmy wanted badly to ask his ranking deputies if Skeeter or anyone else had any suspects in custody, yet was afraid to do so, out of fear they would say no. The hell with it. "Did anyone find out who did this?" He suddenly found himself playing the role of sheriff once again.  
"We got two guys in custody. Wambaugh thinks he needs to fill in your spot as sheriff and is seriously thinking about making them plead guilty," explained Kenny. Pleading guilty is something Douglas Wambaugh hardly ever pushed for.  
"Good." The sheriff was satisfied with the news that flowed into his ears. The transporters came to take him downstairs for the battery of x- rays and echocardiogram. Jill followed them to make sure everything was ok, while Kenny and Max stayed behind.  
"At least he's looking ok," Kenny said.  
"Yeah, poor Jill," Max seconded his motion. "She looks exhausted, and Jimmy looks a little pathetic."  
  
Jimmy's x-rays and echocardiogram took a little over fifteen minutes to complete. Jill had been satisfied with what the radiologist and cardiologist had told her about their interpretations-everything looked as though nothing had occurred, which meant she did her job well.  
When the two of them returned, they were surprised to see their children gathered around Stewart and Lacos. Everyone looked as though he or she had exited a comedic movie.  
"What's so funny?" asked Jimmy, making his way back into bed.  
"I scored the winning goal with only three seconds left!" Matthew shouted.  
Tears had filled Sheriff Jimmy Brock's eyes-he was the happiest person ever to grace this Earth. He knew he was going to be all right, after all, he did have the most important people by his side to get well. And, no matter what happened, he owed his wife a huge debt by having her save him-but that didn't matter. What mattered was the plain fact this entire incident had brought them all closer together. The end. 


End file.
